


your hunger is cavernous

by humanveil



Series: luxurious women [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, Episode: s03e01 Antipasto, F/F, Minor Hannibal/Bedelia, POV Bedelia Du Maurier, Post-Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: To make it something more is a decision she makes on a whim.





	your hunger is cavernous

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to  _[in sweet and stuttered breaths.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12818703)_ It is the exact same story, only with some insights from Bedelia's perspective. Enjoy!

**_00._ **

Bedelia hardly notices the bell’s chime as the door to _Vera Dal 1926_ is pushed open, her focus fixed on the man in front of her. She does, however, feel the heat of a gaze as she waits for her order to be handed over, the hair at the back of her neck standing on edge under the distinct attention.

She turns, because he can’t not. There’s a chance it could be someone who recognises her—and, by extension, Hannibal—and she still isn’t quite sure how she feels about that. At least, not at this very moment.

It’s not an Agent she finds when she turns, though. Not anyone she recognises. Instead, it’s a woman; a beautiful, beautiful woman who’s staring at her with a glint in her eye, with a faint, graceful smile. Their eyes meet, and Bedelia feels a pang of curiosity, a desire to know more about this stranger.

It’s not something she’s felt in a long time.

Only when her order is ready does she turn, but even as she takes the bag, even as she exits the market and steps back out onto the street, the image of the stranger remains.

 

 

**_01._ **

Bedelia sees her inside before she enters, her hand pressed to the glass of Vera Dal’s door, her eyes fixed on the back of the woman’s head. She stands before one of the store’s newer displays, her expensive clothes fitting seamlessly with the luxurious décor. Even before the she turns around, Bedelia knows who it is immediately.

She enters, an odd brand of excitement bubbling in the pit of her stomach as she walks toward the counter. The woman turns at the click of Bedelia’s heel, and when she offers a silent greeting, Bedelia returns it.

The woman continues to stare, only turning away when the cashier calls her name. Bedelia watches as she takes her order, her voice soft, gentle as she thanks Francesco. From the accent, Bedelia guesses British.

She leaves without another word, and Bedelia resists the urge to watch her go, stepping instead toward Francesco, her usual order at the tip of her tongue.

That night, however, once she’s alone with one of Hannibal’s iPads, she searches the name Malfoy, hopes to find more information on this mysterious stranger. All she gets is vague traces of Malfoy man from the 18th century, and surprise to discover her own disappointment.

 

 

**_02._ **

“What’s your name?”

Bedelia’s eyes flick between the woman and the door Francesco has just passed through, something akin to panic settling in her stomach. She can’t say her name, she thinks. Not her real one. The stakes are too high.

“Lydia Fell,” Bedelia answers eventually, the lie rolling off her tongue a moment too late for it to be natural. “And you?”

The woman doesn’t seem to pick up on the lie, or perhaps she simply knows better than to say. Either way, Bedelia is glad when she merely brushes over it.

“Narcissa Malfoy,” she murmurs, and Francesco appears a second later. Bedelia watches Narcissa’s gaze flick to her bag, to where Francesco places her bottles of Bâtard-Montrachet into a sea of protective, decorative paper. “Is it always the same?”

Bedelia’s head dips in a nod. “My husband’s request,” she answers. “He’s… rather particular about how I taste.”

Narcissa’s eyebrows raise at the words, her mouth twisting in a smirk, and Bedelia wonders what her face would look like if she were to know the truth, if she were to understand the horror behind that statement.

She imagines it would be just as beautiful.

“I imagine he has a refined palette,” Narcissa says, and Bedelia smiles ever so slightly.

“Some could say.”

 

 

**_03._ **

When they meet next, it is hardly a coincidence.

Bedelia sits outside, amongst the streets of Florence, _Vera Dal_ ’s familiar entrance in sight. She has no plan to do anything, but when she spots Narcissa, when she sees the woman walk into the market, she cannot stop herself.

She catches Narcissa just as she’s leaving, appearing before her just before she disappears into the bustle of the street.

“May I interest you in a walk?” Bedelia asks, and Narcissa’s suspicion is clear at first. Bedelia watches as she considers the proposition, watches as the apprehension slowly eases from her face.

“Lead the way,” she answers eventually, and Bedelia obliges with a rare, genuine smile.

That night, as she returns to the Fells’ home, Hannibal’s expression is all-knowing, the glint in his eye something self-satisfied. Amused.

Bedelia chooses not to fixate on it.

 

 

**_04._ **

“What brought you here?”

Bedelia isn’t sure what urges her to ask. They’ve been in a comfortable silence until now, their focus directed at the Ponte Vecchio, their conversation limited to the beauty of Florence and a mutual appreciation of the nearest café’s expresso. Still, she’s interested. They’ve been out together three times, now, and Bedelia finds herself increasingly infatuated with Narcissa.

“My husband has an appreciation for Italian cuisine,” comes Narcissa’s voice, and Bedelia looks to her from the corner of her eye, interested in the vague response.

“A penchant for Mediterranean diet,” she repeats. She returns her gaze to the body of water, her eyes squinting against the reflection of the sun. “Is that reason enough to move?”

When Narcissa answers her now, her voice is soft, timid. Bedelia almost misses it as the water crushes below them, as the wind gusts by.

“Anything can be enough when there’s no reason to stay.”

The words are unexpected, their effect far too poignant.

Bedelia doesn’t respond.

 

 

**_05._ **

The bath is soothing as Bedelia slips inside, the lavender scented water enveloping her body with much needed warmth. She leans her head against the edge, unsurprised to hear Hannibal’s footsteps near the door a moment later.

Her eyes are shut, her breathing even. As Hannibal brings a stool to the bath’s side, Bedelia doesn’t move, doesn’t look. She lets him sit, allows him to reach for her, his hands rubbing down her shoulders, his fingers kneading the flesh.

“Will you introduce us?” he asks, the water rippling as his touch disturbs it. Bedelia does not need to ask who he means, and she does not need to think twice about her answer.

“No, Hannibal.”

 

 

 ** _06_**.

Bedelia continues to see Narcissa, with almost every one of her spare moments spent in the company of the other woman. They explore Florence together; spend their time visiting some of Italy’s most beautiful. By the time she finally steps foot inside Narcissa’s suite, they’d begun to run out of places to see.

From the state of Narcissa’s home, Bedelia assumes that the Malfoys are wealthy people. The things that litter their halls match that of what Bedelia often associates with Hannibal, and it only serves to further increase her curiosity.

All thoughts on Narcissa’s history, however, disappear as the woman begins to touch her. She pulls Bedelia’s clothes off slowly, treats them with the utmost care. Excitement rushes through Bedelia as each item is removed, as Narcissa’s mouth trails kisses down her jaw, her neck.

“Your husband?” she asks, the question mostly born from curiosity. Narcissa smiles at her, as if she’s in on a joke Bedelia knows not of.

“Has been kind enough to give us the suite,” Narcissa tells her. “You need not worry.”

There is an edge to Narcissa’s voice; a breathy, underlying promise.

Bedelia puts up no further resistance.

 

 

**_07._ **

“What’s your name?”

It’s the last thing Bedelia expects to hear, now as she’s laid across her bed, her body splayed out beneath Narcissa, the older woman’s fingers working her open with slow, precise movements. In the midst of pleasure, she cannot quite contain her confusion.

“You know my name,” she says, voice breaking in a low gasp, and Narcissa hums, hooks her fingers, presses against Bedelia’s clit with a newfound intent. Bedelia can’t stop the moans that fall from her mouth, can’t stop the way her body shudders.

She arches into Narcissa’s touch as lips press to hers, as they trail across her neck, up to the shell of her ear. “Your real name,” Narcissa clarifies, and Bedelia shivers as her breath ghosts across her bare flesh.

She does not respond. She stills, a hint of panic mixing its way into the pleasure. She gets the urge to bolt, lest this lead to disaster, but Narcissa does not stop. She moves her fingers quicker, the room filled with the smell of their arousal, and Bedelia can’t stop herself as the pressure doesn’t let up. Her name falls from her lips as she reaches her climax, the look on Narcissa’s face far too smug when Bedelia looks to her.

“Bedelia,” Narcissa repeats, her voice soft and sensual.

Bedelia prepares for the worst, but it doesn’t come. All Narcissa does is adjust their bodies, is sit herself above Bedelia’s face with a smirk.

“This is much better, don’t you think?”

 

 

**_08._ **

To wake in Narcissa’s bed is an odd sensation.

Bedelia feels as if she shouldn’t be there, and yet she does not want to leave. The thought of what’s to come is not a pleasant one, and she’d much prefer to stay here, illuminated by the early morning glow, her gaze fixed on the beautiful body beside her.

She has a hand touching Narcissa, her fingers curled around a hip. As the other woman’s eyes open, Bedelia almost pulls it back, but Narcissa leans into it, a soft, content sigh sounding between them.

“Do you always think so much?” she asks.

The words make Bedelia smile, though it is a humourless expression. “When it cannot be avoided.”

Her eyelids flutter as Narcissa reaches a hand out, her fingers tucking her hair from her face. Bedelia wants to lean into it, wants to kiss the bottom of her palm, wants to relish in the feeling of _now._

“What are you trying to run from?” Narcissa murmurs, and Bedelia knows that relishing isn’t an option.

It’s almost sad.

“The cruelty of man,” she answers, and it’s as close to the whole truth as she can possibly get.

 

 

**_09._ **

Later, as she returns to the Fells’, Bedelia reflects on her choices. She does not regret the encounter, though she supposes that she ought to, supposes that she will grow to. That, if Narcissa is pulled into the harsh reality of her own existence, she will wish it never occurred at all.

As she enters the home, as Hannibal greets her, his lips tilted in that same amused look, his eyes glinting with a familiar curiosity, Bedelia hopes that Narcissa can at least be spared the experience of _this._


End file.
